


two;

by kinneyb



Series: i found love where it wasn't supposed to be [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, Werewolf Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier wakes up. Geralt is asked to stay.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: i found love where it wasn't supposed to be [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625914
Comments: 10
Kudos: 210





	two;

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt parts the trees and steps out of the woods,

and immediately he’s greeted by a bunch of villagers,

eyes wide with silent questions,

and he nods, once, confirming their suspicions, and they cheer,

_loud_ ,

and Geralt pretends not to flinch as he catches sight of Ezira in the crowd,

she’s not looking at him but at the body, the man, over his shoulder,

an odd look in her eyes,

and he can’t blame her, really, he’d entered the woods alone and returned with a stranger,

“Who is that?” a voice asks, and Geralt looks at the woman asking,

he can’t remember her name but she’s elderly and looks worried, sincere,

so he smiles, small and tight, “don’t worry about it,” he says,

and that seems to trigger something in Ezira, who pushes closer and grabs his arm,

“come with me,” she hisses, and he nods, following her back to her cottage,

her father is waiting in the kitchen, standing up when he hears the door,

“Geralt,” he greets, eyes quickly landing on the man slumped over his shoulder,

he raises an eyebrow, “a friend?” he asks,

and Geralt almost laughs because he didn’t _do_ friends,

“You found him, didn’t you?” Ezira asks accusatory,

and he’s not sure why she sounds so anger, “I did,” he confirms, “he was probably about to be mauled and eaten by the werewolf,”

and Ezira’s eyes are on fire when she steps closer, “and how do we know he’s not a threat?” she hisses,

and he realizes that she has a point,

he hadn’t shown any signs but there was no guarantee he simply hadn’t changed yet, especially if he was fresh prey,

so he looks at her, silent, having no answer,

and she huffs, turning away, her shoulders tense,

Tedrovit gives her a pointed look and she storms out of the kitchen, 

“I’m sorry for my daughter,” he says, “you just saved us and she’s acting ungrateful,”

Geralt shifts the man on his shoulder, a steadying hand on his back,

“She might be right,” he says, “do you have a–a couch or bed or something?”

Tedrovit looks confused but nods, leading him out of the kitchen, into a small room with a battered cough and a table,

Geralt places the man on the couch and looks him over, once, quick,

he’s in tattered clothes, torn and ripped in all sorts of places, and from what Geralt can see he hasn’t been bitten or scratched,

so that’s a good sign,

he relaxes a bit and looks up at Tedrovit, waiting in the doorway,

“He was probably a victim,” he confirms, “but he seems to be untouched,”

Tedrovit blinks, obviously confused with the terms, so he continues,

“He hasn’t been turned,” he continues, “he should be human.”

Tedrovit nods, shoulders slumping, relief blooming across his old face,

“You should stay for dinner,” he says,

Geralt shakes his head, already standing up, “I shouldn’t,” he says,

“Please,” Tedrovit says, stepping closer, “you deserve a proper thanks,”

he smiles, just a hint, thinking of his daughter, “and Ezira?” he asks,

“She’ll be fine,” he replies quickly, “anyway,” he looks over Geralt’s shoulder, at the sleeping man on the couch, “I’m sure he’ll want to give his thanks, too,”

Geralt hmms, considering it,

he would be dumb to turn away free food, so he nods, “okay, I’ll stay,”

Tedrovit brightens and Geralt can’t help feeling a little lighter just by being near him, 

“But only for dinner,” he stresses,

Tedrovit nods, “please, relax,” he says, gesturing around the room, “I’ll have Ezira draw you a bath,”

Geralt debates arguing but he _is_ dirty and sweaty from the fight, so he simply nods,

watches silently as Tedrovit walks out of the room,

sighing, he walks over and sits on the couch, the armrest, peering down at the young man he had saved,

he was, by all definitions, beautiful,

long, dark eyelashes and light freckles, traveling down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his tattered shirt,

and messy, sweat-slick hair,

Geralt reaches out without thinking, brushes a bit of hair out of his face,

he doesn’t even hear Ezira’s footsteps,

“Your bath is ready,” she says from the doorway and he startles, pulling his hand back,

she raises her eyebrows, a knowing glint in her eyes,

and she really did remind him of Renfri albeit younger and less calloused,

not yet tainted by the cruel world,

Geralt stands up and walks to the door, “keep an eye on him,” he says,

and he expects an argument, but she just nods, walking to the couch,

satisfied, he leaves the room and finds the washroom, tugging his clothes off almost violently before he sinks into the warm water with a sigh,

Geralt almost falls asleep, but he doesn’t, climbing out of the bath only after the water is cold,

he reaches for his dirty clothes when he notices a stack of clean ones,

furrowing his brows, he reaches for them and sure enough they’re about the right size,

smiling to himself, he pulls them on and walks out of the washroom,

he finds Ezira in the living room, perched on the table and reading a book,

“Has he woken yet?” he asks, eyeing the man curiously,

she shakes her head and closes the book, “do you think he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be traumatized,” he says, honestly, “but he’ll be okay,”

Ezira hums and mimics his action from earlier, brushing hair out of his face,

Tedrovit appears in the doorway, an apron around his waist, “dinner is ready,”

Geralt nods at the father and father, “go ahead,” he says, “I’m going to wake him,”

his initial plan had been to wait, let the man take his time waking up, but he couldn’t be sure the last time he had had food or water,

and there was no point in saving someone just for them to die,

especially from something like _starvation_ ,

so Geralt walks over and kneels in front of the couch, watching the man’s sleeping face,

his eyelashes are fluttering, brushing against his cheeks,

and Geralt notices his hands are shaking, and he feels something,

_unexpected_ ,

looking at the man, not pity, exactly, but something deeper, stronger,

Geralt reaches out and touches his shoulder, “hey,” he says, “ _hey_ ,”

and then, just like that, the man’s eyes snap open and his lips part,

and he’s screaming, _loud_ ,

and Geralt has the childish urge to cover his ears, but he doesn’t,

he spots Tedrovit and his daughter in the doorway, looking worried,

“Stop,” he says gruffly, grabbing both of the man’s arms, which just sets him off,

he screams louder and thrashes, kicking at Geralt with his feet,

and he catches one of his legs and that’s it; the man stops screaming,

he slumps forward, hugging himself, and sobs,

Geralt’s heart squeezes, “get him some water,” he says without looking up,

and he hears hurried footsteps and soon Ezira is handing him a canister of water,

Geralt releases the man’s leg, rubs it, “hey, you need to drink something,”

and he looks up with wide, wet, red eyes and Geralt’s heart squeezes again,

he’s never been weak for the sight of injured people, or sobbing, even,

but he feels something in that moment he knows is _new_ and it’s strong,

“Please,” Ezira says, standing off to the side, and the man sniffs, once, before accepting the canister,

the man tries drinking from it but his hands are still shaking, trembling, frankly,

so Geralt takes the canister from him and holds it to his lips, waiting,

he looks offended for a total of two seconds before his dehydration kicks in and he’s gulping down water,

spilling droplets down his chin and on his shirt,

he finishes the canister and Geralt pulls it away, searching his face,

“I–I don’t–” the man tries, voice rough, back to hugging himself,

Geralt has never been good at comfort, so he doesn’t know what to say,

thankfully Ezira sits on the couch, taking over,

the man startles, scooting away but doesn’t run for it,

“Are you hungry?” she asks, and he nods, because of course he’s hungry, “can you stand up?” she prods gently,

and she seems like a different person with him,

Geralt watches, intrigued, as the man shrugs, an honest answer,

“Well,” she says, “you never know unless you try,”

and the man frowns but accepts her hand when she stands, standing up on shaky legs,

Geralt stands, too, ready to catch him if he falls again,

“I’m–I’m okay,” he chokes out,

Geralt isn’t convinced in the slightest but he nods and makes his hovering a little less obvious– _hopefully_ ,

he follows Tedrovit and the others into the kitchen,

Ezira pulls out a chair and the man sits, looking relieved to be off his feet,

Geralt looks down and sure enough his feet look rough, even bloody in places,

Tedrovit puts food in all their bowls, big scoops of something dark and savory,

the man eats like a dog, quick and making a mess of himself and the table,

but Tedrovit and his daughter do not complain, eating much slower, neater,

Geralt hmms, finishing his food first, “I should go,” he announces,

Tedrovit looks up, disappointment clouding his eyes, “but–”

“I said I would stay for dinner,” he reminds him, not unkindly, “thank you,” he nods at them both, “for everything,”

Geralt stands up and is stopped, surprisingly, by the man,

he grips the front of Geralt’s shirt in one of his hands, a tight fist, “don’t,” he croaks,

and Geralt stares at him, confused, “don’t what?” he asks,

the man tugs on his shirt, just barely, “don’t go,” he say, eyes wide and wet,

and fuck, he looks like he’s going to start sobbing again any second,

Geralt takes his hand off his shirt, cradling it, “I do not live here,” he says,

“Geralt,” Ezira says sharply, standing up, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

The man sniffs as Geralt releases his hand, nodding at the food, “eat,” he commands,

he follows Ezira out of the cottage, out onto the small porch,

“you should stay,” she says,

Geralt stiffens, “I can’t,” he says, for so many reasons, many of which he didn’t feel like explaining,

especially to a girl with stubborn eyes,

“not forever,” she says, rolling her eyes, “just for a few days,”

Geralt looks away, doesn’t answer her,

“He’s terrified, Geralt,” she continues and he looks at her, “and you were the one who saved his life,” she says, stressing each word, “no wonder he’s attached to you,”

Geralt’s skin prickles, “all the more reason he should learn better,” he says, evenly, “as soon as possible,”

because people depending on him, _needing_ him, never ended well,

for _them_ or _him_ ,

Ezira frowns, staring at him, “just a few days, Geralt,” she begs, “please,”

and he never expected to hear that word out of her mouth, frankly, so he’s admittedly kind of caught off guard when he nods dumbly,

“three days,” he stresses, “and then I’m out of here,”

she smiles, looking pleased, “okay,” she says, “three days.”


End file.
